


What We Traded for the Stars

by ScarlettArbuckle



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Final Fantasy XV Spoilers, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Memory Loss, POV Noctis Lucis Caelum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:44:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21940657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarlettArbuckle/pseuds/ScarlettArbuckle
Summary: [for akiko_natsuko for Ignoct Secret Santa 2019] Prompt: Angst or Hurt/ComfortAfter miraculously surviving the dawn, Noctis finds it difficult to forget about the scarred man who helped him off the throne.The sunrise reflected off the ruined city around them, off the shattered glass and torn up roads, and illuminated the tawny features of the man in front of him, whose burn-tattered face was tilted towards him, his brow relaxed, his scarred lips turned up into a blissful smile.He was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. But he had no idea who he was.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 14
Kudos: 74
Collections: Ignoct Secret Santa 2019





	What We Traded for the Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Akiko_Natsuko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiko_Natsuko/gifts).



One second, there was nothing except the endless aurora of the crystal around him, pulsing soothing light around him as exhaustion tugged at every atom of his being. Noctis was fading - disintegrating into shreds of light. This was how it was meant to be, right?; this was prophecy, fate. The will of the gods - it was okay. It had to be okay - because even if it wasn’t, he had no other choice. He’d made his peace - he’d said as much the night before. But now, in this moment as his being frayed at the edges and his focus waned, he wondered if he’d ever really come to terms with it like he’d thought.

The next second was _Agony_. Every sucking wet breath and drawn out wheeze shot sharp stabbing pains through his middle, making him writhe and groan against his throne; distantly, he heard the clatter of metal against stone, and felt a rush of hot blood flowing over his legs, soaking his raiment. His stomach burned, and with a lurch Noctis sagged forward into someone’s warm arms, clasping for support and choking for air. Gloved hands curled around him, holding him upright, and with a firm grasp over his hand he was forced to crack a potion. Warm magic coursed through his body, and slowly the pain in his stomach and chest eased from pure agony to searing, stinging pain.

“There you are. Hold on - focus on me! Breath in - yes, just like that Noct. Now out-”

A sobbed gasp of relief broke from next to him (Prompto, he recognized with relief) and a heavy, warm hand settled on his shoulder, giving him a firm shake (Gladio). Finally - when he’d finally caught his breath and felt he wouldn’t keel over from sheer exhaustion, Noctis cracked open his eyes.

Just as he thought, he was sitting on his father’s-- on his throne. His father’s sword lay discarded on the steps below, soaked with his blood (fuck, don’t look don’t look-). Gladio and Prompto leaned in close, supporting him with a hand against each arm; Gladio with wet eyes and a broad smile, and Prompto with shameless tears already coating his pale, freckled cheeks, his lower lip wobbling. And next to them, his arm supporting Noct’s back, a hand propped on his shoulder was…

“I didn’t think you were gonna make it, dude- all this time and you were really gonna just waltz right back out of our lives!” Prompto breathed, giving him a careful shake.

“It’s not over yet, he’s still lost a lotta blood. C’mon, help him up - I’ll carry him back to the glaives.” It was all Noct could do to flash his best friend a reassuring smile as Gladio shifted to kneel at the base of the throne, turning his back to him and extending his arms as if to carry him piggy-back. It was all Noct could do to scoot carefully forward, the throne hot and sticky beneath him from his own blood, but with help Noct was finally able to grip Gladio around the neck, resting his head against his shoulder as Gladio’s two companions carefully tied him to Gladio’s back with unbuckled belts.

Finally, his shield rose to his feet and Noctis sagged in relief, closing his eyes against the swell of nausea and vertigo the simple motion brought. They carefully descended the throne-room steps, avoiding chunks of debris as they went. Each time Gladio lost his footing or stumbled in the dark, Noctis hissed out a pained breath, reassured by the sweeping of fingers through his hair and soft, accented murmur of support and promises of ‘soon’ and ‘almost there, your majesty-’

Finally they were free of the citadel, and as Noctis opened his eyes and peered up at the sky, he gawked at the beautiful splash of oranges, pinks, and smears of blue; and there, for the first time in what felt like forever, he saw a few bright stars peering through the deeper blues of dawn. The sunrise reflected off the ruined city around them, off the shattered glass and torn up roads, and illuminated the tawny features of the man in front of him, whose burn-tattered face was tilted towards him, his brow relaxed, his scarred lips turned up into a blissful smile.

He was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. But he had no idea who he was. In the chaos of his glaives crowding around them, helping Gladio lower him onto a stretcher frame, and Prompto fussing over his bloodied clothes, the stranger slipped away and Noctis didn’t have the chance to ask for his name.

* * *

As strange as it was, in the weeks that followed Noct’s thoughts kept turning back to that scarred man at dawn.

It wasn’t that he had nothing else to do; despite Gladio’s attempts to have him focus on recovering from his injury and Cor intercepting most missives before they reached him, the concerns of those who’d survived the World of Ruin still trickled in one after the other. He’d seen a brief glimpse of it, in the weeks leading up to his fight against Ardyn, but there was still so much work to be done. The Hunters and Glaives had kept the peace as best they could, with Lestallum as the heart of their network - but for every outpost that had received power in the ten years he’d been gone, there were a handful of homesteads or camps built around havens or generator-run lights, and each had their own rules, alliances and, in some cases, rivalries.

Not everyone had banded together in the dark; and not everyone wanted a king.

“That’s fine. After all you’ve done, you deserve some R&R anyway.” Gladio said to that, snorting as he shoved Noct back to lay in bed. “And if you decide you want to give the king thing a try again, you know the Glaives and a lot of those hunters will get in line, after what they saw you do.”

“I don’t know. It seems to me they did pretty well on their own for ten years.” Noct sighed, pawing Gladio off him until the shield leaned away, hands raised in surrender.

“Surviving the apocalypse, yeah. Making it day by day. But setting up a new civilization? Not that I’m saying you have to do it, but - didn’t you study a lot of that stuff, back when we were in highschool?” Prompto hedged, propping his chin in his hand, half slumped against the side of the bed next to Noct. “You had all those papers you looked at all the time.”

“The political reports? I guess I got the gist of it, but - I always had someone break them down for me.” Noctis frowned as he sat up, eyes turning sideways in thought. Why now, of all times, was he thinking about that Glaive? It had to be a glaive, right? He’d been in a glaive uniform - but that might not mean much, those were also the uniforms Prompto and Gladio had been given for that final fight. He could’ve been a hunter, there to help out and sharing in the supplies.

“But… yeah. Even if I skip the whole king thing - not like I can sit back while everyone else is hard at work.”

* * *

In the end, Noctis wasn’t a king, even if plenty of people still called him Your Majesty. However, he was sure his father would be proud to see him far from abandoning the family business. His first act, after finally being given the green light to get out of bed rest was to form a council to oversee reconstruction and recovery of Insomnia. He knew next to nothing about construction, but he did remember parts of what he’d learned about the needs of people. The first step was setting up an infrastructure, and reinforcing a new sense of community.

Prompto and Gladio stayed right by his side, joining up on the council right alongside him. As much as Noctis insisted he retire, Cor plodded right along with them, lending what experience he’d accrued over his ten years in the dark. The call was sent out for others to come and take on the challenge of settling in the ruins of the crown city… and within days, He came. The glaive from that first morning.

The first time he spotted him was there, among the small city of tents that the workers had erected in the courtyard at the base of the citadel, the man from dawn wove his way between the campfires, a thin gloved hand hefting a cast iron pot with ridiculous ease. He engaged with Cor without a trace of intimidation, refilling his bowl and speaking in a lowered, confident tone when the marshal asked him a muted question that Noct couldn’t quite hear. His hair was slicked back from his face, thick and stylish, his shoulders broad and hips narrow - there was a strength in his arms, evident in the shape of his forearms and the muscle barely seen through the cut of his top.

As he made his way closer, though, Noct finally realized he was blind. He couldn’t see his eyes, past the dark visor he wore, but the scarring and something in the way he shifted his feet, subtly checking for cracks or obstructions in his path, made it more obvious. Regardless, when he got to Prompto something in the gunman’s response made the glaive hesitate, his eyebrows drawing up slightly as if in recognition. Gladio took a hearty serving, but when the man lingered next to Noct, head canted to the side in question, Noctis couldn’t restrain himself. His hand reached out, brushing against the inside of the man’s wrist - enough of a touch that he froze, exhaling sharply.

“Your Majesty.” He breathed, angling his face towards him. There was a quiver to the cupid’s bow of his lip that he erased by pressing his lips together firmly, drawing himself back another step. “Would you like some as well?”

“You should sit with us.” Noctis blurted out, instead, apparently stunning the man (and his companions) with his bluntness. Then, recognizing how out of place it was, Noct tugged his hand back sharply, setting them on his knees instead. “If you want, no pressure. Everyone else is getting some rest, you should too.”

“Yeah! No sense running yourself ragged, take a break.” Gladio added, although his eyes had sharply settled on Noctis, eyebrows raised in question.

“Got a chair right here, ready for ya!” Prompto said helpfully, tapping his hand against the camper chair with a broad smile.

For as friendly as they were being, the glaive looked hesitant, flexing the hand that Noct had mistakenly touched moments before. Then, almost hesitantly, he stepped towards the chair Prompto had indicated, his hand reaching until it bumped into the mesh, stooping to set the pot down. Sheer relief and joy burst in Noct’s chest and, like clockwork, he promptly put his foot in his mouth.

“Yeah - promise, I’m a lot better company without a hole in my chest.”

And just like that, the man jerked, his hand grasping at the handle of the pot as he straightened back up, a stricken look on his face. Still - moments later his expression smoothed out and he instead smiled grimly towards Noct, “I’m certain you are, your majesty. … Still, I should at least dispense the food until it is gone - my name is Ignis, just call if you would like seconds.” He inclined his head in what suspiciously looked like a bow, and strode off towards the next campfire.

Noct flinched as Gladio elbowed him sharply, tossing a scandalized glare sideways at him.

“I don’t even wanna know what the hell THAT was.” The shield groaned, shaking his head as he returned to his meal, murmuring lowly in surprise at its apparently good taste.

Rubbing his arm, Noct gazed somberly after the man - Ignis - as he disappeared into the distance.

* * *

In the weeks that followed, Ignis seemed to flee Noct’s presence as ardently as Noct craved his. Almost as soon as he realized Noct was in his vicinity (unhelpfully aided by the general murmur of ‘your majesty’ or ‘Noct’ that erupted whenever he appeared), the man would efficiently conclude his business and move on. He left a trail of impeccably arranged projects in his wake; a workable inventory of donated and recovered goods, suggested lists for which buildings to recover and search first, and records of seed banks kept throughout the city in military installations that may still be recoverable all miraculously appeared as if from magic under the man’s fingertips, and seemed to brandish a knowledge of the city’s infrastructure far superior than even Noct’s.

And it wasn’t as if the man was rude or unsociable; he exchanged pleasantries, and worked with Noct efficiently when in the midst of a discussion or when the king suggested some sort of alteration to a plan, or a fix to a problem - but as soon as the meeting was adjourned, or the task handled, he would excuse himself and somehow disappear.

His only reassurance was that, apparently, he had done much the same to Prompto and Gladio, and even Iris when she was roped into Noct’s hopeless chase - so at least he didn’t appear to detest Noctis alone. Perhaps, he reasoned, Ignis was anti-monarchy - his accent suggested Tenebrean influence, at the very least, so perhaps he was a survivor of the empire? But that didn’t explain his vast knowledge of Insomnia, such as the layout of the blocks and neighborhoods or the inventory of crownsguard caches and bunkers throughout the city.

If Noctis could let it lie, he would have - but at night he was haunted with images of Ignis’ face. The ghost of his scarred fingers on his knuckles, the soothing murmur of his voice in his ear; it was never anything horribly risque, just inherently intimate, and he woke with a vast emptiness in his chest, and the sense that he was too cold, haunted by a chill that only Ignis could ease. He couldn’t fathom why he’d been fixated on the poor man since the moment he slid off that throne - Gladio had laughed when he told him, suggesting he was no better than a chocochick, imprinting on the first face it sees after hatching.

Maybe it was something like that. But his desperation just to talk to Ignis finally pushed him, nearly two months after the start of them working together, to seek out his rooms in the newly refurbished crownsguard barracks on the fringe of the citadel grounds, rapping at the door and shifting nervously. The startled look on Ignis’ face when he drew the door open only confirmed that his visit was probably creepy and stupid, stupid idea.

“Look - Ignis, I’m sorry, I know this is weird as hell - just - can I talk to you? Please? Just this once without you running off, and I swear I’ll leave you alone. Just - five minutes.”

The man leaned against his doorway, his eyebrows raised in surprise, his mouth slightly open. But - slowly he stepped back, angling his body so that Noct could slip inside, watching mutedly as Ignis clicked the door closed after him. In the lowly lit room, Ignis looked … well, a lot different than he did in the daytime. His hair was loose from its normal style, falling into his eyes, long enough to brush against his cheekbones, and his eyes (for once) weren’t hidden behind his visor. The left was closed, amidst the scars, but the other was open, a pale green that fixed on Noct’s face, piercing into him as if Ignis was seeing straight to his soul.

“So you - have the lights on?” Noct asked, stupidly - flinching as he realized how insulting that sounded. But -

Instead of balking like he had months before, Ignis tilted back his head and laughed, sharply and suddenly, one scarred but graceful hand lingering over his mouth as if trying to catch the laugh before Noct could hear it. “I can sense the light - or, that is to say I can tell when it is there or when it is not. It’s comforting, so yes - I have the lights on.” Ignis explained patiently, crossing his arms loosely against his chest. Noct hummed awkwardly, and for a moment they fell silent.

“Look I--”

“Noct, why have you--”

They both started at the same time, only to stutter, chuckling weakly as they danced around one another. At this moment, Noct had wanted to ask why Ignis was avoiding him, or why he was in his head. But… now, gazing at him - a beautiful man, illuminated by subdued lamp light, and he could only ask…

“Ignis, I know I barely know you-” A flinch, and Ignis seemed almost to hug himself.

“But I want to. I don’t know how to explain it without you thinking I’m crazy, but I just -” Ignis stared at Noct, even without seeing, and seemed to waver where he stood. Noct grew more desperate, half fearing he’d punt him out onto his doorstep.

“It’d mean a lot to me if you’d want to get to know each other better. There’s not a lot of options here yet, but - I want to take you out somewhere. Or just - I dunno, get a coffee. You seem like the kind of guy who loves coffee-”

Quite suddenly, Ignis surged forward, shoving Noct almost into the door as he crushed him in a fierce embrace, kissing him. Noct wasn’t one to argue, but at the telltale tickle of tears dropping onto his cheek he pulled back with a gasp, cupping Ignis’ face and brushing his thumb over his cheekbone to rid it of tears, staring up at him in concern. But Ignis was smiling, even while holding the expression of a man stabbed in the heart. “Yes - Noct, yes I would like that very much.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hadn't read this before, but I realize (9/1/20) this is the same concept seen in starrynoctsky's beautiful story https://archiveofourown.org/works/17204540 ! That story came first, so please check it out!


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